Mid-afternoon in Santarém the equatorial blue sky has come to rest      on the twin towers of the Igreja Matriz; and now      their upturned faces have seen enough           so they close, gently but with a slight twist, like blue morning glories after the ecstasy of morning has passed. Beyond them, the Tapajós slips its moorings, casts off the shoreline, gives itself up      to the east-bound current. I too, give myself up,           but it’s not this current,           not this river...